


Infinite Lines

by whatwrites



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Attraction, Awkward Tension, Dogs, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Light-Hearted, Mentions of Death, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Some Plot, Tattooed Steve Rogers, Tattoos, slight sexual tension, tattoo artist natasha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:21:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29341998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatwrites/pseuds/whatwrites
Summary: Steve is hit with the notion that getting a tattoo can be so much more than just a form of art; it can run much deeper, help heal the wounds of sorrow and offer new chances that you hadn't anticipated.
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 8
Kudos: 54





	Infinite Lines

**Author's Note:**

> “Our bodies were printed as blank pages   
> to be filled with the ink of our hearts” – Michael Biondi

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Sam asked as they stopped outside the shop, echoing his question from barely ten minutes and two blocks ago.

Steve sighed in half frustration. “Yeah.” 

He knew Sam was just doing his duties as a good friend and making sure he wasn’t jumping on some impulse by doing this.  After all, Steve hadn’t mentioned anything about his idea to his friend until earlier today – when they had grabbed lunch in the form of spicy hot-dogs from a food truck at the street food festival that was currently taking place not too far from Tompkins Square Park.

“Okay, but how do you know this is even a professional place?” Sam asked, the concern bleeding through in his voice. He peered up at the sign above the entrance:  _ Red Room Tattoo  _ was written in black and red letters in gothic calligraphy. 

“What if it’s some scammy business?”

Steve held up his phone. “They’ve got a 5-star rating on Google reviews and Facebook and very positive comments on Instagram.”

Sam chuckled. “I don’t know what surprises me more; that you, Steve Rogers, who refuses to be a part of any form of social media, checked Facebook and Instagram? Or that you knew how to use them?” 

“Oh, shut up.” Steve shot back, moving towards the entrance door.  “I’m a little hurt you think so little of me though, that you think I wouldn’t have done any research,” Steve did his best to sound hurt, but he didn’t quite succeed, and Sam knew he was faking it anyway. 

“Well, someone has got to make sure you don’t end up with a gigantic tattoo all over your back that you will end up regretting for the rest of your life.” 

Steve rolled his eyes but flashed a grin at his friend. “Maybe you’ll end up with one, too. I recall you once said you do everything I do, just at a slower pace.” 

Sam shook his head. “You're on your own in this, man. I’ll just be your support.” 

Steve gave a light shrug and put a hand on the door to open it, hesitating for a split second, taking a breath, before pulling the door open. 

The light concrete floor was a nice contrast to the dark walls and made the shop light up and infuse a welcoming atmosphere.  A worn leather couch was up against the wall to their right, and a small, dark wooden table was placed in front of it. A few art pieces hung on the wall.  A woman with a slender build and brown hair tied back in a short ponytail sat behind the reception counter; behind her was a short hallway that seemed to lead to another open space area.

Steve walked up to the desk, suddenly a little nervous. “Uhm... Hi,” he said, his mouth feeling a little dry.  The brunette behind the desk looked up from the computer. “Oh, hello. Welcome to Red Room Tattoo.” 

“Uh, thanks... I read on your website that you accept walk-in customers, too?”

The woman smiled warmly. “Yes, we do, at least if it’s possible. We have been quite booked up recently.”

“Oh, do you’ve any open appointments today?”

“Let me check the schedule,” she turned towards the computer. “Do you want a specific artist, or is anyone fine?” she asked, glancing up at him but without fully taking her eyes off the screen. 

“Anyone is fine,” Steve answered. “I’m sure all of your artists are talented,” he added quickly. 

She smiled up at him. “Well, Natasha has an opening, but she might be busy elsewhere... But if you want to wait a minute, I can go and check with her?”

“That would be great. Thank you.” 

She swirled the chair around and walked down the short hallway with the bookshelf before disappearing around the corner. Steve shared a hopeful look with Sam, so far so good. 

The brunette returned less than five minutes later and was now accompanied by another woman. 

The second woman – who Steve assumed was Natasha – was shorter and dressed in a black T-shirt with the shop's logo and name on it, a pair of black yoga pants, and biker boots with a zipper on the side. Her red hair with blonde tips was tied back in a loose braid that rested over her shoulder. Her lips were painted in a crimson red shade, and her green eyes were framed by black eyeliner, while the rest of her face was covered in light makeup that was perfectly blended. 

Steve couldn’t help but be a little taken aback by her appearance. He hadn’t had any real image of what she would look like, but he hadn’t quite expected her to be so  _ attractive _ , so…  _ beautiful,  _ he thought. 

She held a can of soda in one hand and an iPad in the other as they approached them with quick steps. As they got closer, Steve could see a bit of ink peeking out from underneath the sleeve of her T-shirt on her right arm, and she had a text in a foreign language inked on her left inner wrist. 

“Hello,” she greeted with a timid smile. “Maria told me you wanted to get a tattoo?”

Steve shook awake from his thoughts and returned her smile. “Yes, if it’s possible?”

Natasha leaned against the side of the desk, taking a sip of her soda. “Depends on what you want to get done?”

“Nothing too big or complicated,” Steve answered and pulled out his phone. “I have a picture of what I had in mind.” He scrolled through his camera album until he found the right image and turned the phone around to show it to her.  “I want this text if it’s something you could do?”

Natasha stepped closer to inspect the image on the phone a little more profoundly.  “Oh, yes. It will be no problem at all. What placement did you have in mind?”

“Here,” Steve said and gesticulated with his hand towards the rib cage on his right, right beneath his chest.

Natasha nodded. “Do you’ve any other tattoos? I’m just asking because that can be a tough place to get a tattoo, especially if you’ve never done one before.”

“Yeah, I have a few tattoos already. But they were done a couple of years ago....”

“But then you’ve got a hunch about how the tattoo process feels. I can do it right now. I’ll just need ten minutes or so to set up and fix the stencil. If you’d like to email me the image on your phone so I can use it as a reference?” Natasha asked kindly. 

“Sure,” Steve answered, and Natasha handed him her card with her email on it.

“Do I need to write a subject title?” 

Natasha shook her head, “No, I’ll open it right away anyway.” 

Steve quickly typed in the email address that was written on the business card and sent it away. Natasha’s iPad dinged a few seconds later. “I think I got it. Steve Rogers?” she said and read the email address that just landed in her inbox. 

Steve put his hands in his jeans pockets. “That would be me,” he quipped.

“You can wait here in the meantime,” she gestured toward the waiting area with the leather couch. “ I’ll come and get you when everything is ready.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” Steve responded and moved towards the couch as Natasha disappeared down the hallway. 

Sam plopped down beside him. “How are you feeling? Having any second thoughts?”

Steve shook his head. “No. I want to do this Sam, it feels right.”

Sam was quiet for a moment. “I know. I might’ve joked earlier, but I know how much this means to you. What the tattoo represents….”

Steve nodded thoughtfully. He was sure about this; it was something that had been lingering on his mind for the past ten months. He had felt from the start that this was the right thing to do, but it had taken him months to face the emotional aspect of it. But this was a step forward, a step closer to acceptance, and a step away from the grief and pain that had clouded the last couple of months. Steve wondered what Bucky would have thought about this if he would have laughed or been honored — knowing Bucky though, it probably would have been a little bit of both, mixed with a bit of embarrassment. Obviously, had Steve been able to ask him, he wouldn’t be here in the first place….

The door to the shop opened, and a young woman stepped inside; she wore a red leather jacket and a black sundress, and her dark brown hair was a little messy from being outside in the spring wind. Three enthusiastic dogs were swirling around her feet. All three were in different sizes; the biggest one was a skinny greyhound with a brindle coat and a gray snout. The smallest one of the three dogs’ was a brown and white French bulldog with a wagging body.

The third dog was a medium-sized dog with complete black fur, except a white patch on the chest and a bit on the paws, and a fluffy tail. 

The young woman turned to Maria behind the desk. 

“The weather is wonderful outside. You could almost think it’s summer already; it’s so hot,” she exclaimed with a bit of an eastern European accent as she reached down and tried to untangle the dog's leashes. 

The little French bulldog yanked at the leash and made an attempt to run up to Steve while the black dog tried to run forward; only the Greyhound stood perfectly still at her side. Judging by the gray around the south and overall tired appearance, Steve assumed the dog was older than the other two.

“Hey, hey, calm down now,” the woman said and tried to haul in the leashes. Her sunglasses slid down to the tip of her nose, and she used her free hand to put them up on her head and brushed her hair out of her face.

“I’m sorry, they’re usually quite well behaved….” she said apologetically and tried to get the dogs to calm down. 

“It’s okay,” Sam said and shrugged. 

“Yeah,” Steve added and rose from the ouch to help the little Frenchie who had gotten stuck under the table because he had managed to wire his leash around the legs. 

While Steve tried to get the dog out from under the table, the dog didn’t do him any favours by happily trying to jump and lick at him.  As the dog did not want to be still, Steve eventually took a hold of his collar and unclasped the leash from it, so he could untie it from the table legs. Once he managed, he clasped the leash back on and stood up, handing it over to the woman. 

“Thank you,” she said appreciatively and took the leash. “Murray is still just a puppy, and he gets a little over-excited at times,” she explained and looked down at the dog, who now was scratching his ear. 

Steve shrugged, “It was no problem at all.” 

“My name is Wanda, by the way. Are you here for an appointment?” 

Just as Steve was about to answer, Natasha appeared again, and the black dog immediately jumped at her. Natasha gave the dog a quick pet and said something Steve couldn’t hear before gesturing for the dog to get back down. 

“I see you have met our little dog pack,” she said and nodded towards the dogs, then she looked up at Steve. “I’m all set up, so if you’re ready, we can start on your tattoo.”

As Sam and Steve followed her towards the back room, Steve noticed a crack in the floor and hesitated a bit before skipping over it. As superstitious as it might be, he wasn’t going to risk any bad luck now, not with a needle about to go on his skin. 

They walked to the end of the hall, and Steve looked around the large space in front of them; It had the same white-painted brick-wall as the entrance room. Right next to him was a staircase that led downwards. In the end of the room, there were two huge windows with black colored frames and a door in the right corner that led out to a small, enclosed backyard. 

The four tattooing stations were made up by treatment benches — similar to massaging beds at spas’ — for the clients to sit or lay down during the sessions. Small trolleys with all the supplies for the tattoo artists were on the side next to them.  The spotlights on the ceiling were just bright enough, with a warm and comforting light.  Low classic rock music was mixed in with the buzzing sound of the tattooing machines. 

Steve sat down on the bench Natasha directed him towards, his palms suddenly felt a bit clammy in his lap, and he tried to dry them off on his jeans. Sam sat down in the chair next to him and leaned back, his stature was calm, but Steve could see that Sam was almost as nervous as he felt all of a sudden. 

Steve couldn’t pinpoint where the nervousness came from; he wasn’t having second thoughts, and he had been through this before, so this situation wasn’t new to him. Maybe it was because this tattoo had such an immense emotional value attached to it – not that his previous tattoos weren't personal to him, but this was different.  Or maybe it was that it had been so long since he had been through this that he was afraid he had forgotten what it felt like, how painful it could be…. 

_ Or maybe it has to do with the fact that the artist this time around is a beautiful woman who–No.  _ Steve shook his head at his thoughts. His mixed-up feelings didn’t have to do with her, if anything it was a combination of all of it, maybe.

“I will need you to take off your shirt,” Natasha’s voice penetrated his thoughts. 

“What?” Steve asked dumbfounded, still somewhat caught up in his head. Natasha looked at him with kind, green eyes. “You need to take off your shirt, or at least lift it so I can apply the stencil.” 

_ Great, now she thinks I’m an idiot or slow minded…. _

“Oh, right. I can take it off, no problem.” Steve dragged his T-shirt over his head and handed it to Sam. 

Then he looked back at Natasha, and he noticed that she was staring at him. Her eyes lingered on his well-trained torso and for a brief moment, she seemed distracted, but then she collected herself. 

Natasha asked him to stand up again and moved in closer to him, so close that Steve could smell the scent of her perfume.  She cleaned off the area where the tattoo would be, with a cloth soaked in rubbing alcohol. Then she scrunched down a little to apply the stencil. 

She positioned on his ribcage, right underneath his chest, where he had shown her earlier that he wanted it. Her fingertips were a little cold, but light as feathers against his skin. She removed the paper and leaned back a little, forehead in a frown, inspecting the blue ink on his skin. 

“I think it’s as even as it’s going to get, and the size is fitting; I can make it bigger if you want, but I think it’s about the size you wanted. Take a look.” She gestured towards the full body mirror that hung on the wall. Steve turned around and stepped closer to it. The blue ink was reflecting at him, and he studied it, shifting from side to side, turning a little, to get a look at it from different angles. 

“It looks perfect, exactly where I wanted it. I liked the way you made the tail of the ‘y’ go underneath the name. Sort of like a wave.” 

“Good. I’m glad you like it. It’s important it feels right because it’s going to be there for the rest of your life.” She smiled at him, put on a pair of nitrile gloves, and turned towards her little supply trolley. “You can lay down now.” 

Steve laid down on the treatment bench, and he felt a little exposed and vulnerable, sort of how you feel when going to a doctor's appointment or the dentist, and they ask you to open up your mouth so they can take a look. However, this was, without a doubt, more exciting than a doctor’s appointment. 

“You feeling good?” Sam asked, and Steve could only manage to give him a small nod, his throat a little dry.  Then he noticed something black sitting beside the bench, brown eyes peering up at him. Steve reached out his hand, and a cold, wet nose brushed against his fingertips. He hadn’t even noticed that the dog had quietly followed them.

“Is it your dog?” Steve asked Natasha, recalling how the dog had greeted her earlier in the waiting room. Natasha, who now had sat down on a saddle stool, rolled closer to him. “Yes. Her name is Salsa.” 

Steve gently brushed his hands against the dog's soft fur, giving her a little scratch behind the ear. “I didn’t know dogs were allowed in tattoo studios?” 

“I don’t think it’s the common norm. But we allow them here.” Natasha placed her right hand on his chest; the tattooing machine was in her other hand, hovering just a few inches above his skin. “They also offer great emotional support for customers who are getting their first tattoo or are just very nervous. Is it okay if she stays?” 

“Sure,” Steve said and glanced from the machine to the dog and tried to relax his body, focusing on his breathing.

“I’m going to start now,” Natasha informed, and the machine buzzed to life. “Just let me know if you feel like you need to take a break or if you start feeling nauseous because that can happen sometimes.” 

Steve nodded and took a deep breath as the needled came in contact with his skin. He had completely forgotten what it felt like, having a needle poking through your skin. It was sort of like having a tiny scalpel or knife running along the skin of your body, twitching back and forth, causing his chest to feel like it was vibrating. It burned a little, and it was definitely uncomfortable, and it hurt – but it was bearable, so far at least. 

Steve closed his eyes for a moment, trying to think of something else than the pricking pain that went through his body. He could feel the tattooing needle move over the sensitive skin over his ribcage. 

“Are you feeling okay?” Natasha asked, and he glanced at her and grimaced. 

“I’m not gonna lie, it hurts, but it isn’t as bad as I thought.” 

Natasha smiled slightly, without looking up from his chest. “Well, I would’ve been surprised if it  _ didn’t _ hurt.” 

Steve prevented himself from letting out a small laugh, he didn’t want to move any more than he could help. He looked up at the ceiling, and Natasha continued working on his tattoo. He felt her hand move lightly over him as the needle kept going in and over his skin; slowly but steadily creating the pattern that would ink the name of his best friend onto his skin.

His mind went to Bucky, wondering if he was looking down at him from somewhere above the clouds. Steve wasn’t very religious, and he didn’t necessarily believe in heaven or hell or that there was a life after this. Still, the thought of Bucky watching over him and somehow knowing he did this for him, to honor  _ him _ , and preserve him in his life, even though he wasn’t physically in it anymore, made him feel a little better.  Even if getting his name tattooed on his body permanently was nothing compared to the presence Bucky had had in his life or how much he had meant – and still meant – to Steve, it was a little tribute to how important he was to him. 

Natasha tenderly swept a paper towel over the tattoo wound, cleaning away some blood, before continuing with the work. “So, Bucky, is that some sort of nickname?”

Steve swallowed. “Yeah, yeah. It… It was the nickname of my best friend. His name was James.  James Buchanan Barnes . As you can hear, his name was a bit of a mouthful, and he always sorts of despised it anyway, so he always went by Bucky.” 

Steve smiled a little at the thought of Bucky getting pissed off whenever someone had called him by his full name. 

“What happened to him? If you don’t mind me asking,” Natasha asked in a gentle voice, never taking her eyes off her work, and the needle kept on rasping his skin. 

Steve looked up at the ceiling again, just staring at the grey concrete blankly. He didn’t mind Natasha asking; if anything, it was a valid question, but he still struggled to talk about Bucky at times; the wound of losing him was still so fresh, so raw and open, and not fully healed yet. 

Then Steve felt something nudging his hand again; he glanced down, Salsa was quietly licking his hand. Steve smiled at the dog and petted her gently; feeling an odd sense of strength and comfort.  He took a breath and tried to ignore the pain, both the emotional one and the pain from the tattooing needle – which wasn’t as bad anymore; his body had adjusted to the process and pumped his body full enough of endorphins.

“We served in the army together…” Steve began with a quiet voice. “Did two rounds and was a part of several rescue ops… Then one mission went wrong, we got ambushed and…. I got knocked over so bad that I passed out, then I woke up in the medical bay at a hospital,” Steve paused, and he could feel the tears burning in his eyes. “I made it home alive, and he didn’t.…” 

Natasha was quiet for a moment, leaning in closer over his frame. “I’m sorry,” she said earnestly.

“Thank you…” Steve answered and tried to blink back the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks. 

“It’s still tough to talk about him, but it’s getting easier, and well, I wanted to get his name tattooed so a part of him always will be with me, you know? It might sound silly, but…” Steve cut himself off, realizing he was opening up more than he had meant.

“It’s not silly.” Natasha frowned and paused, stilling the tattoo gun in her left hand for a minute. Then she held up her right arm: there was a tiny ghost, with its tongue out, holding a four-leaf clover inked on the underside of her arm, right beneath her elbow.  “This is a silly type of tattoo, but yours isn’t. Yours has a deep personal meaning to you, which in my personal opinion, is the best kind of reason for getting a tattoo… I realize I probably shouldn’t say that considering this is my job. But those impulsive tattoos tend not to be the best kinds….”

“I guess that sounds realistic…” 

“You have no idea how many people come in here and want to get a tattoo dedicated to someone they have loved and lost, whether it be a parent, sibling, friend, relative, or even a pet. Tattoos are very personal and individual, and most of the time, there’s no wrong reason to get a tattoo, especially not if it’s dedicated to someone that meant a lot to you. I’d argue it can even be therapeutic and help with the grieving process.” 

“Sounds like I’m not your first client to get a memorial tattoo then?” 

Natasha slowed down and turned off the machine, and lifted it away from Steve’s skin. “No, I get that quite a lot,” she replied and cleaned off the reddened area with some more rubbing alcohol, and Steve shivered at the burning feeling – it almost felt worse than having a needle puncturing your skin. 

“I’m all done. Take a look.” 

“Already?” Steve asked in surprise and slowly rose from where he was lying.  “That went fast.” He stood up and stretched his neck a little; his chest and whole rib cage felt sore as if he had been punched or hit by a baseball bat. He turned towards the mirror on the wall.  The area around the tattoo was red, and the outline of the text itself was a little swollen, and the black ink was in stark contrast to his usually pale skin. Steve was tempted to run a finger across the name, but he knew he shouldn’t do that, so he didn’t; he just stared at his reflection in the mirror. Reading Bucky’s name over and over, inked into his skin for infinity. 

“Thank you, it’s perfect,” he said in a raspy voice, without taking his eyes off his reflection, eyes focused on the tattoo.

“Yeah, it is...,” Natasha said, biting her bottom lip absentmindedly, eyes roaming over Steves’s upper body. Steve’s forehead wrinkled in confusion, and he looked at her, and then he heard Sam suffocate a laugh.

“What?–” he started and looked over at his friend, bewildered at what was going on. Then he looked over at Natasha again, who quickly turned towards the little supply trolley, trying to collect herself and act as if she hadn’t just been ogling her customer. 

“Erhm...I just need to wrap you – eh, the tattoo up, and give you the aftercare instructions, then you are free to go.” 

Natasha applied some antibiotic ointment on the tattoo before placing a plastic wrap on it, making sure it was sealed airtight over the tattoo. It was needed in order to prevent bacteria from getting into the skin and stop it from rubbing against the fabric of his shirt and getting irritated.  The tattoo was essentially an open wound now and would take time to heal.

Her fingers were just as skilled and feather-light on his skin as they had been when she had applied the stencil and gently inked his tattoo.  Steve put his shirt back on, and they walked back towards the reception room, Salsa following them at the heels. Steve felt an odd sense of attachment to the dog, and just as Natasha had said in the beginning, it had calmed him a little having the dog beside him during the tattoo session. 

“Here are the aftercare instructions,” Natasha picked up an A4 paper and handed it to him.  “You can read it in detail when you get home. But you should wash your tattoo twice a day, preferably in the morning and in the evening, with mild, fragrance-free soap. Also, keep it moisturized during the whole healing process, but be careful, so you don’t over-moisture it. There are some recommendations for moisturizers to use at the bottom. Every step of the healing process is written in detail on there,” Natasha nodded at the sheet of paper in Steve’s hands. “Any other questions?” 

Steve eyed the paper, it was about a whole page of text, but right now, he didn’t have the energy to focus on it because he frankly felt a little tired. “Not at the moment, but I might’ve once I walk out of here.”

“I know that feeling,” Natasha handed him another little business card. 

“My email address and the number to the studio is on there, so feel free to call if you have any questions or concerns about your tattoo.”

“And what if I don’t have any concerns? Can I still call you?” Too late, Steve realized what he had said, and he felt the blood drain from his face.  _ Shit.  _ He had  _ not _ meant to say that out loud, he had just thought it, and then it slipped past his lips before he could stop himself. 

“Uh… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“ Steve stammered, averting his face towards the floor as he felt his face heat up in embarrassment, and it got even  _ worse _ when he heard Sam cough up an “awkward” in the background, which in turn led Steve to make a mental note that he needed to look for better friends.  _ Traitor _ , he thought.

Natasha glanced at him through her long eyelashes, a playful smirk on her crimson painted lips. There was silence for a minute or two, but to Steve, it felt more like hours, and his head was spinning with ways of trying to get out of this situation. Eventually, though, Natasha spoke up. 

“You know what,” she said and snatched back the card in Steve’s hands and leaned over towards the front desk to pick up a pen; she scribbled something down on the piece of paper. “If you want to call me anyway, you can use this number.”  She handed the little card back to him, but now there was another number written on it as well. 

“I look forward to hearing from you.” Natasha winked, and Steve just stood there, perplexed for a minute; his brain had suddenly turned into mush. He had not expected to end up in this situation when he had walked into the shop earlier.  But if he had learned anything, it was that life could take unexpected turns when you least expected

“Uh, me too – I mean, I –” Steve stuttered, words getting tangled up in his throat. Luckily Natasha didn’t laugh at him or made some snarky remark; she just gave him a small sympathetic smile before glancing down at her smartwatch.

“I need to go and prepare for another appointment. But it was nice meeting you, Steve, and thank you for trusting me to do your tattoo.” 

“Thank you for doing it,” he said earnestly. 

They said their goodbyes, and Natasha walked back down the hall, her dog trotting behind her, and the two friends headed for the exit. 

Sam opened the door, and they walked outside; the spring air felt fresh, and rays of sunlight hit their faces. Cars honked and rolled down the streets, and pedestrians walked up and down the sidewalk. It felt like they had spent the last two hours in some sort of vacuum from the rest of the world.

Sam put on his sunglasses and turned to Steve. “Dude, that was unusually bold of you in there, and I don’t just mean getting the tattoo.” 

Steve blushed furiously. “Yeah, I don’t know what came over me.” 

Sam huffed. “Sure you don’t... So, are you planning on calling her?” 

Steve looked over at Sam, giving him a smug smile, and put on his sunglasses; squinted up at the bright blue sky. He felt better than he had in quite a long time, and it almost felt like somebody had lifted weights off his shoulders. It was going to be alright; whatever happened in the future, this was a step forward, in more ways than one. 

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews and constructive criticism are welcomed and appreciated. Thanks for reading!


End file.
